


pilgrims on the earth

by anaesthetist



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Goodbyes, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, the church of scotland has a lot to answer for: part two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28012974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaesthetist/pseuds/anaesthetist
Summary: Lieutenants Le Vesconte and Fairholme get their affairs in order.
Relationships: Lt James W. Fairholme/Lt Henry T. D. Le Vesconte
Kudos: 9
Collections: The Terror Bingo





	pilgrims on the earth

**Author's Note:**

> for the terror bingo prompt _hms erebus_

It seemed, displayed on the map before him, an almost insurmountable distance. 

_One could not possibly_ —he had started, then stopped, straightening and stiffening under the weight of the hand Mr Blanky placed upon his shoulder. Though he had no say in the matter, but he had nodded his acceptance of his orders, a lump in his throat and the set of his jaw tight. _It will be a pleasure, sir._

But the pleasure, he knew well enough, would not come in this wretched life.

In this life, in what precious little time remained of it, he would suffer what was expected of him, then depart to peace and rest from his labours. At last, he would be delivered from all fear, all torment, all temptations and—most pressingly—all ice. In the joys long promised, it would be warm, he thought, tracing an invisible line across the map, his finger coming to a rest by Great Slave Lake. There would be no more hard feelings.

As though summoned, a familiar knock came at his cabin door, and with it an uneasy shift in his chest.

For once, Henry’s lack of requirement of invitation did not bother James. He fluttered a hand up the front of his waistcoat, fixing a button come undone, as he stood with some haste, the legs of his chair giving an almighty screech across the floorboards as he knocked it back. By the time he had steadied himself on his feet, clutching the back of his chair for balance, Henry had opened and shut the door behind him.

In his hand was a bottle of whisky.

“Say nothing of your temperance,” Henry said, setting the bottle down atop his map. He produced two glasses from the pocket of his coat. “I don’t wish to hear of it.”

James nodded, saying nothing of it. Instead, he watched Henry pour two glasses, take one for himself and drink it down. His own sat untouched even as Henry poured himself another, this time with less care. A drop splashed over the edge of the glass and onto King William Land, obscuring its name for new discovery.

“I shouldn’t think Sir John would endorse mourning in such a fashion,” he said at last, taking his glass by its rim and sliding it towards himself. He had no intentions of drinking it. “Nor Lieutenant Gore.”

Both, as far as he was aware, were as sure in their beliefs as he was; that there was little cause for grieving in death, for it was only the final departure from this terrible place to which no man ever truly belonged. Man, after all, was a mere pilgrim on earth, and only death would bring him home. It was a conviction, Mr Blanky had reminded him, that was best not shared with the men with which he would walk.

“Who said anything of mourning?” Henry said then began to take off his coat.

“I was of the impression Comm—Captain Fitzjames had delayed my departure with the intention of it,” James told him, finally standing free of his crutch to let Henry fold his jacket over his chair. “You know different?”

“I know it is a sentiment much wasted on you.”

James was motionless for a moment, something in the slight brazenness of Henry’s words locking the muscles from his throat to his toes. A twitch to his fingers returned to him first, then the stilted jerk of his arm to retrieve a handkerchief from his pocket. He dabbed the whisky from the map so as not to look at Henry.

“Then for what reason—”

“Have you settled all your affairs?” Henry asked, interrupting his own question. “Or have you still much to do?”

James’ eyes ticked around his cabin. Most of what he had needed to do had already been done, right down to placing his epaulettes back inside their box under his bed. He would never wear them again. Something about this, trivial though it was, pained him a great deal. What he had wanted for was not what He had planned for him, and for once he had found himself aggrieved, if not questioning. 

“Aye, I—”

“Then you will have the good grace to assist me in mine?”

With this, Henry took a brief step towards him, then sat in his bed. The sheets, on which James had no intention of sleeping that night, creased under him as he leaned forward, hands resting on his knees. At once, he shrank to a man James barely recognised.

“You really won’t have a drink?”

“ _Of drunken quarrels in her sight beware; pot valour only serves to fright the fair_ ,” he said, then added, “It’s Ovid,” when it prompted no recollection on Henry’s face. “I recommended his work to Captain Fitzjames to help— _refine_ his own poetry, but I doubt such art could ever be refined.”

Henry gave a small laugh.

“Why you entertain him, I dare not ask,” he said.

In truth, James had no answer to give to such a question. He simply _did_ , without queries of his own, as was expected of one’s subordinate. It was the way of this world, of the Navy. Might he have been more honest in his remarks had they been friends? He was not to know now. There would be no opportunity for it. All that was would be like this until time thawed them from the ice, when they might live again in legend, words placed in their mouths and deeds done in their names.

He hoped, quite selfishly, they would remember him brave.

At last at ease, James perched his backside on the edge of his desk. He took the glass of whisky in hand so as to occupy them.

“Do you remember when we first met? Down in Plymouth?” Henry asked then, which—yes, James could. He nodded his answer. “I thought James had done you a terrible disservice in his letters. You were much more of a man than the boy he had claimed you to be.”

“Much time had passed since,” James said in his captain’s defence.

“Much more of a gentleman you were, I found. In manner as well as name,” he continued, then stopped, lips spreading into a smile that once again caught James unaware. He drummed his fingers along the side of his glass, letting the clink fill the silence. “I would never have taken you for such a thief, however.”

“A thief!” James spoke abruptly. “For what could I be accused to have stolen?”

“I had a great deal more self-respect before stepping foot on _Superb_ , for one,” Henry said, and at once James felt himself flood with something akin to pity. “I had dreams without you in them.”

James turned his face to the door.

“I never intended you any ill will,” he said, but he knew well enough that the absence of ill will was not love. It was the in-between, caught suspended in neither affection nor indifference, that sliver of space between the heart and lungs. It seemed such a hollow place to put Henry, but he allowed for nowhere else. “You know that perfectly well.”

“I do,” Henry said. “But what you don’t know—”

“I know perfectly well your affections,” James said quickly, not quite sure that he could stand to hear Henry say it. “If that is the affairs you intended to set in order then you needn’t. I shall be going to my icy grave in full knowledge that—that—”

“That I love you,” Henry finished.

James closed his eyes.

“Well,” he heard Henry breathe then, “I’ve said my piece. If you should need anything before morning—”

“Where do we go?” he said, interrupting Henry in a quite ungentlemanly manner that seared his own conscience. Finally, he looked at him again. “In your dreams, where do we go?”

Looking quite taken aback, Henry seemed for once lost for words while the question settled into his mind. For a moment, his silence was filled with the creak and groan of _Erebus’_ timbers being crushed between the ice. He sat straighter as he told him, “We go home.”

“Home,” James repeated. “Where is home?”

“That house left to you that you so often describe, the one by the Tweed, where the salmon swim,” he said. “Such a marvellous place it sounds, I would very much like to visit. A most delightful existence could be had there, you once said, and I have seldom stopped thinking about it since. Though, in truth, the _where_ has never taken precedence over the _who_.”

“Then know it shall be that home to which I am walking,” James said, setting the glass aside and moving towards Henry. He set a hand upon his arm, and Henry touched it gently. “And if I shouldn’t reach it, it shall be for no lack of wanting, and I will wait for you in Our Father’s house instead.”

**Author's Note:**

> tell me all the vicious things   
> that no one knows but god.  
> you simply ain't the worst that i've seen  
> stumbling through the dark.


End file.
